


Living the Musketeer Life

by The_Forgotten_Nobody



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aladdin AU included, Angst, F/M, Family, Hogwarts AU included, Hurt/Comfort, Little Mermaid AU included, M/M, Spoilers, Spoilers for Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Forgotten_Nobody/pseuds/The_Forgotten_Nobody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and one-shots about our favourite Musketeers. Tags will be updated accordingly. Pairings vary.</p><p>18. For as long as they could remember, Aramis and d’Artagnan had wanted to see the human world. Little Mermaid AU. Aramis/Porthos and d'Artagnan/Athos pre-slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Scar He Created

**Author's Note:**

> Athos cannot help but wince when he sees the scar.

Athos cannot help but wince when he sees the scar.

When d’Artagnan first arrived to Paris, he only had one scar. It was a thin line that ran from his knee down to just above his ankle. When queried about it, d’Artagnan had said it was from an accident when he was only a young child. He had been running too fast, not looking where he was going when he fell over a rock which caused the large gash. It was old and it held no haunting memories.

Since joining the Musketeers, d’Artagnan now had three. This in itself wasn’t uncommon for in their line of duty it was rare if you were unmarked, however there was one scar that Athos couldn’t stand the sight of, one that he flinched at the first time he saw. It was his scar. The one his hand created.

The white line ran along d’Artagnan’s left hip and Athos saw it every time the boy raised an arm, every time he changed, every time the guilt of his actions threatened to consume him.

He wasn’t supposed to have it. The bullet was merely meant to graze d’Artagnan; it was only to look like he had been hurt worse. Except Athos had been careless. He mistimed the shot and instead merely leaving a graze; the bullet punctured through the skin and left a deep slit in its wake. It was his fault that the blood that pooled around d’Artagnan was larger than it should have been. And it was his fault that Aramis had been forced to sneak in d’Artagnan’s room to tend to him, compromising their plan. Initially they were to only pretend a physician had come to see him. Because of him they actually needed one.

D’Artagnan never blamed him though. When Athos apologised after the whole fiasco was over he had just shrugged and said it was part of the job. That he knew the risks and he was fine now, no harm done. He said it was pure misfortune it happened or maybe even his own fault for being in the wrong position. Athos had been quick to dismiss that notion. D’Artagnan was not at fault. He was.

Athos himself has many scars, but none had hurt worse than seeing the one he inflicted on d’Artagnan.

 

 


	2. Do you regret it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Porthos wondered if Aramis regretted saying no to Agnes.

Aramis had been quiet lately. Whilst he had not been actively avoidant, his smiles were fewer than normal and his eyes often gazed wistfully at nothing. It was almost reminiscent of how he had acted after he had killed Marsac but with less grief and more longing. Porthos had seen the way Aramis had held the child, Henry. How despite his best efforts he had become attached to the baby and to his mother. However, Porthos had a feeling it wasn't them in particular that Aramis had desired, it was merely the idea of having a wife and child of his own. Sometimes, Porthos wondered if Aramis regretted saying no to Agnes. Whether he regretted saying no to a life that would have mended his fragile heart and calmed his womanizing ways. It was a thought that hurt and one night when the wine was flowing freely the curiosity became too much to contain.

"Hey, Aramis?" 

Aramis turned his attention to Porthos, setting down his cup on the table. They had a hard day of training and were rewarding themselves with the pleasure of drinking. It was how they rewarded themselves most nights, but it never became less enjoyable. Athos and d'Artagnan had headed home early and so it was just the two of them, perfect for the topic he was about to bring up.

"What is it, my friend?" Aramis asked, leaning casually against the table, a content and languid smile on his face. 

“Do you ever wish you had taken Agnes up on her offer?"

Aramis' brow crinkled in confusion and the corners of his lips curved. "What offer? The one to join her and Henry?" 

Porthos nodded. "Yeah, that one. I've noticed that you've been acting different since then. I was wondering if that had something to do with it."

Aramis pressed his lips together and released a long breath. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully before he spoke. "I don't regret saying no," he finally said. A clamp that Porthos had not known was around his heart eased at the words, but he saved his relief until Aramis finished what he was going to say.  "But I do wonder. I was going to have a son you know."

Porthos had not known. Aramis never said much about the life before the Musketeers, and Porthos had never pried. It was an unspoken rule between the Musketeers that a man’s reason for joining, different they were for everyone, were his own and his alone to share.

"What happened?" Even though the answer was fairly obvious, Porthos didn't want to assume, and he wanted to hear the explanation from Aramis himself.

"She lost the child, and her father sent her away. He wouldn't tell me where she went, and so I joined the Musketeers. At the time I felt it was as if God was telling me I was not meant to be a father and so I joined the profession where being a father and a husband was a disadvantage."

"But you still want to be them." Porthos said. It wasn't so much a question as a statement of understanding. 

"I will admit the idea is nice," Aramis said with a small smile, "but at the same time I have found a calling in being a Musketeer. I have no doubt that if I had gone with Agnes, I would have stayed, but I would have missed the thrill of the fight, the adrenaline as we help King and country.  Most of all I would have missed you, Athos and d’Artagnan. Regardless, as I said then, someone needs to patch up you lot when you get hurt. Without me you would all be dead within the week,” he finished with a smirk as he drank the last of his wine.

Porthos laughed, and the last remaining bits of anxiety within him dissipated. Maybe one day Aramis would decide otherwise and finally choose to settle down with a nice woman and start a family, perhaps they all would, but for now he was staying and Porthos couldn’t be happier.


	3. In My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was more than he could have dreamt of for himself, he should be happy, but all he can feel is heartbreak and sorrow. It seems his dreams have grown bigger since coming to Paris.

He stares at himself in the mirror and he can hardly recognise himself. He is a far cry from the thin, unruly farm boy from Gascony he was when he arrived in Paris. Now he is well-fed, distinguished and a Musketeer.  It was more than he could have dreamt of for himself, he should be happy, but all he can feel is heartbreak and sorrow. It seems his dreams have grown bigger since coming to Paris.

Instead of merely fighting alongside his friends, the Musketeers, for King and country he also pictures himself returning home to the smell of home-cooked food. He imagines a beaming Constance coming to greet him at the door, a baby girl in her arms and their son running behind to welcome him home. He dreams of picking up his son as he asks to hear about his latest adventure and as he recounts it to his son, making sure to dramatize them as much as possible, Constance laughs at his theatrics as she places their daughter down. They eat dinner together, and once the children are asleep for the night, he lies beside Constance who asks how the mission went truly. He tells her and she smiles as she listens, her breathing shallow and comforting as the fire slowly dies down. When he finishes, she tells him that she’s proud of him and they kiss before huddling together under the blankets. It is the same every night, and every night he cannot think of anything more perfect.

He still dreams of it, even now,  but that’s all it will ever remain. A dream.


	4. I'll Watch Over You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis watches over his son.

He still doesn’t know how Anne did it, but every day he can never express how thankful he is that she managed it. Thanks to her, he is Prince Louis XIV's personal guard. Thanks to her, he gets to watch his son grow. Thanks to her, his son knows he exists.

“Aramis, Aramis, did you see that?!”

Prince Louis is an adventurous child, only five years old and he wants to learn to fight ‘just like Aramis does’. Currently, he is showing Aramis the move the Musketeer taught him only the other day and Aramis couldn’t be more proud.

With a grin, Aramis kneels and says, “I did indeed. You’ve very much improved since yesterday.”

His son beams at his father, not that he does, or will ever know that. Sometimes the pain is so much is takes all he has to summon the barest of smiles for his child. But he does, for if there is one thing he has to be, it is there for the child. He will be there when his mother cannot be, when the man he calls father is too busy. He would do anything for his child.

“I knew it! Can I come with you on one of your missions then?”

Aramis laughs at his son’s question. The boy is determined to join Aramis on the tasks he is set aside from watching Louis. Porthos, when he had previously assisted Aramis on his watch, had told Louis of the adventures they had gone on in the past and since then the boy was adamant that he would join him. Aramis had told him to wait until he was skilled enough and so the boy had made it his own personal mission to have Aramis train him every day with his own little wooden sword. They now have a routine that every weekend when Louis is free from his lessons the two would spar. Anne had scolded him when she first found out, afraid that her child would be hurt, but she couldn’t deny that it brought such a bright smile to his face. A smile Aramis was able to put there. She couldn’t take that away.

The years go by and Aramis makes sure to always be there for his son. Any worries he has, they are brought to Aramis be they to do with lessons, politics or romance. He takes his duties as the boy’s father very seriously, and the day that his son tells him that he was more like a father than his namesake, Aramis very nearly cries.

Before he knows it, his son is an adult and no longer needs the care and reassurance he required as a child. Aramis is still there though. There are some days he is tempted to reveal the secret to his son, but he never does. Were word to spread there would be a riot, and Aramis would never put his son in that sort of danger. Instead, he contents himself in watching Louis as he courts a lovely duchess using the words he taught him. He contents himself watching Louis protect his people using the moves Aramis had shown him when he was small. It may hurt, every time he hears his son call another father, but he has vowed to keep him safe no matter what.

It is this promise that runs through his head as he finally dies, saving his son’s life from an assassination attempt. Even as the life drains out of him, and his son cries over his body, Aramis still doesn’t tell his child, but he still watches over him. He always will.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I keep making all of these kind of angsty at the last second. It just sort of happens.


	5. The Comte and the Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone thinks that Porthos and Aramis met first. They are always surprised to find out they’re wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I attempted to get this up yesterday seeing as we no longer had a new episode, but it turns out that going to bed at 5am does not allow for productivity. I'm still tired.

Everyone thinks that Porthos and Aramis met first. That wasn’t to suggest that they thought Athos was not as close to them, it was just something people naturally assumed. They are always surprised to find out they’re wrong.

Athos met Porthos while on a trip to Paris. He was still acting as the Comte de la Fère and he still had a loving wife waiting for him when he returned home. It wasn’t his first trip to Paris and so Athos knew to be especially cautious when he rode. Whilst he did not flaunt his riches, his wealth was obvious from his well-tailored clothes and the impressiveness of his steed.  He fully expected to be a target.

It was with this expectation that the second a hand closed around his pouch his sword was out and under the neck of the unsuspecting thief. Keeping his hand still and sword in place, Athos looked at the man who tried to rob him. He first noticed how large the man was, he looked like someone who could knock a person out with one punch, but Athos didn’t fear him as he was prepared to use his sword should the thief make one wrong move.

“I would let go of that if I were you,” Athos suggested calmly, inclining his head to the hand that still gripped his money.

Teeth ground together, the thief snatched his hand away and his lips curled down further when Athos carried on holding the sword to his throat.

“Do you not have anything to say? An apology perhaps?” It was something Athos said to every man who tried to steal from him. It probably wasn’t wise, he had infuriated enough men to attack with them, but it was something he said nonetheless.

The thief barely contained a snarl. “Why should I apologise to a man who has a full stomach while there are hundreds out there who struggle to pay for one meal a day if they’re lucky. There are children dying because they lack the money you have. Do you not care about them? I am only trying to provide them the meals you take for granted.”

Athos raised an eyebrow and considered the thieves words. Slowly, he withdrew his sword. Never had he met a thief that was concerned with anyone other than himself, or at least spoke of them so passionately.

“If I were to care about every poor soul in Paris, I would be penniless and there would be more to replace them. It is how society works.” It may be sad, but it was the truth. For all the idea of removing poverty was nice, it was impossible as humans were inherently selfish creatures. Athos tried to do his part, but as he said, he couldn’t help everyone.

The thief didn’t respond but he didn’t look as angry as he had before. He still eyed Athos’ sword with wariness as he gradually backed away. Before he could fully make an escape, Athos called him back.

“Wait!” The thief halted, and he gave Athos a curious expression which turned to surprise when Athos threw him something.

“Keep it, feed some children.” Athos told the thief as the man eyed the money filled pouch with amazement. Athos may not be able to help everyone, but this thief had earned his respect and so he was going to give the money, on his terms.

He raised his head and offered Athos a small smile. “Thanks,” he said, stuffing the pouch in one of his pockets.

“Don’t mention it.”

He did mention it; however that time was three years later when Athos requested to join the Musketeers. Porthos, as he had introduced himself, had been one of the first faces he saw when starting his training and the ex-thief had informed Athos that he was the reason he’d joined the Musketeers. Athos’ generosity, something he had never seen before, had given him the realisation that not all rich men were arrogant, selfish bastards. It was this realisation that had stopped him from running the moment Treville came up to him to say he had potential and offered him a place with the Musketeers.

Treville, seeing that the two men already knew each other, suggested that Porthos be the one to guide Athos through his training, along with one of the other newer recruits Porthos already knew - Aramis. Porthos heartily agreed, as did Aramis when he met Athos, and it was then that the bond between the three inseparables was born.

 


	6. Nightmares Full of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D’Artagnan’s nightmares are full of fire and smoke. d'Artagnan/Athos

D’Artagnan’s nightmares are full of fire and smoke. He’s trapped by the flames as they surround him, licking at his body, burning his skin black…

It starts with him in his childhood home, basking in the meagre heat provided by the many lit candles they had in order to try and combat the brutal cold of the winter. Before he knows it, one of the candles has been knocked over and the flames are un-relentless as they spread to every available wooden surface they can. He can hear his mama screaming at them to leave; he can hear his father ordering him and his brother to climb out the window as the door is blocked. He can hear –

The memory changes. This time he is alone, watching as with every second that passes his life is cut shorter and shorter. He struggles against the bonds that tie him to the gun powder, all the while panicking that these will be his final moments. He will die surrounded by the fire and smoke that had threatened his life once before. The flame gets closer and still he is trapped. He is going to die, no one will know he was there, he will –

He is in Athos’ mansion. The smoke clouds his vision, and the flames reach out to him as he continues through the rooms in search of his friend. Part of him wonders whether Athos is already dead, but he pushes that thought aside. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he was. He finally finds Athos however just as he gets ready to get them out of there something breaks and his exit is blocked. They are trapped, trapped within the burning heat. D’Artagnan doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how he can get them out alive. Once again, he his life is put in danger by the flames that endanger him once more and this time not only him, but the life of Athos as well…

The memories become interwoven until he is no longer sure where he is and what is happening. The only thing that remains constant is the fire, the fear and the panic. There seems to be no end, no rest from these dreams that torment him. He is trapped, stuck within the flames, imprisoned by the smoke forever-

Until he wakes. Coherency doesn’t come quickly, and d’Artagnan does not take well to the body constricting him, the warmth it providing being anything but comforting. He struggles against the body, attempting to free himself from the heat he can still feel. Then he hears a voice.

“Calm down d’Artagnan, you are safe. There is nothing to fear. Listen to me. I will not let anything harm you.”

He knows that voice. Almost instantly his muscles start to relax and he stares up at the face of Athos who is looking at him with concern. He begins to remember where he is. His breaths start to become slower, as does his heart rate. Athos’ arms are still around him, but instead of feeling the need to escape like he had previously, he allows himself to rest in them.

“Nightmare?” Athos asks. His voice in tender and calms d’Artagnan further. The memories that haunted his dreams begin to fade but he still remembers the panic and fear he’d felt. Not trusting his voice quite yet, d’Artagnan just nods against Athos’ chest.

“I heard you muttering about fire again. Do you wish to talk about it?” This isn’t the first time d’Artagnan has had the dreams, nor is it the first time he has woken Athos with them. Then again, perhaps the other man was already awake from nightmares of his own. Either way, they are both awake and d’Artagnan is still trembling slightly from the remnants of the dream that stay in his mind. Each time before when Athos had asked whether he wished to discuss his dreams, he had shaken his head. Now, however, he feels the need to share them, to release them so that they may hopefully plague him no longer.

“I…when I was younger, my house burnt down. No one was hurt, but I was the last to be freed. I had helped my father get my brother out and before I could follow the fire spread over the window I was facing. It wasn’t a problem as I got out of the one in my bedroom, but at the time I thought I was going to be burnt alive. I had managed to repress the memories until the mission with Vadim. I felt the same way when trying to escape. I didn’t think I was going to get out. And then-“

He cuts himself off. He doesn’t want to remind Athos of the time that his murderess wife nearly killed him, nor reveal to him that the incident had fuelled the nightmares.

“When you rescued me from the fire.” Athos’ finishes off for him and d’Artagnan grimaces. He hopes Athos doesn’t blame himself, as he has a tendency to do, but instead of looking pained the other man only looks slightly resigned and still concerned.

“I don’t know why I dream of them. I am fine, my family was fine and you are fine. It’s foolish, I know-“

Athos stops him. “The mind is a strange thing d’Artagnan,” he mutters as he rearranges them so that d’Artagnan’s head rests more comfortably on his shoulder and his strong arms encase him. “You were afraid at those moments and that is alright. Anyone in your position would have been scared. I too was frightened that night when you rescued me and I dream about what-ifs all the time. It is something I can deal with however, when I wake with you beside me. The dreams will get better, mine already have.”

It is the most d’Artagnan has heard Athos say in a while and he presses a small smile against Athos’ bare skin. He feels safe, protected and most of all loved, not that he has yet expressed that sentiment to Athos yet. They don’t say any more that night and just as Athos said, the dreams do begin to dwindle now that he has spoken about them. It isn’t quick, but it’s something. It helps that every time he wakes, Athos is there to sooth him and in return d’Artagnan does the same when Athos has his own nightmares. The fires that had once ravened through his mind soon dwindle into ashes and d’Artagnan gets the best night sleep he’s had in years.

 


	7. King Louis XIII Reflects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis isn’t a blind man; he knows his wife has been unfaithful but instead of being mad, frustrated, jealous, he is only relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this about a month or so ago and just got around to finishing it. I think Louis’ character is very interesting and I couldn’t help but play with it. Set after Knight Takes Queen.

Louis isn’t a blind man; he knows his wife has been unfaithful but instead of being mad, frustrated, jealous, he is only relieved.  He is relieved that finally, his wife may begin to enjoy her time by his side as she finds happiness somewhere in Paris.  Once upon a time he had dreamed that he would have a loving wife who would bare him many sons that would respect and admire him.  He was a foolish child.  Love isn’t meant for royalty, it is meant for the commoners for they need to find joy somewhere if it is not in material belongings.  They can have love while he, the king, can have a country, people to depend on him and more money than he knows what to do with.

He knows there is a chance the child isn’t his but as long as Anne doesn’t say anything, he will not mention it.  He needs an heir and if the only way he can get one is through is wife’s infidelity then so be it.  The child, his or not, will grow up with the best education possible and a country waiting for him to take charge of.  As long as Anne is quiet, he will be too, and the child will be able to have all of his love.  He isn’t quite sure what he’ll do if the child bears no resemblance to him, not even he can claim to be so blind and oblivious. 

Some people think that he is an idiot and a fool.  Sometimes, he admits in his more humble moments, that is true.  Anne most likely thinks that he has no idea he knows but how could he not. The moment she arrived back in Paris her step was both lighter and heavier as if she knew she had done something wrong but could not find it in herself to regret it.  Louis has seen the way she stares at the Musketeers but he never looks too hard to try and find the one she seeks in particular.  For all that he is relieved she has enjoyed herself, he does not want to see the man who can make his wife smile in ways he cannot. 

Despite what he may say in his weaker, anger filled moments, Louis does truly love his wife.  Not in the romantic sense, but he loves that she adores Paris and its people even though he knows she was reluctant to come here and marry him.  Some may call her kindness weak but Louis thinks it admirable.  Louis himself, expecting Anne to love him upon first sight, had been disappointed, but it was obvious that there could never be truly romantic relationship between them.  They were too different.  In a way, Anne was too mature for him, even now.

His wife’s stomach continues to grow as time passes and though Anne is delighted, Louis can see the tension lines around her eyes.  She is worried about him finding out.  In order to ease her worries, stress would not be good for the child, he merely states how excited he is to be a father and what life they will be providing for it.  It helps and when a healthy baby boy is born about 8 months later he doesn’t care that the child most likely isn’t his by blood.  He is his son regardless.  He will be King.  Louis couldn’t love him more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As my muse is being especially unhelpful with things lately, I am gladly taking prompts.


	8. We All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much as they’d lived together, so did they die together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NutellaOMutt said whump. My brain said death. Oops.

Musketeers weren’t known to have long life-spans; it’s what made Treville such a feared man for he had been in many battles and had always come back. That’s not to say an early death betrayed weakness, no, it only betrayed bad luck and for all the good luck the four well-known Musketeers had had over the years, it merely meant all their bad luck was to come at once.

They hadn’t even been on duty when it happened.  Busy with the constant requirements and responsibilities that came with being a Musketeer when neighbouring Royalty were visiting had meant that the four friends had had little time to see each other.  The visit eventually came to end however and the four finally got the chance to see each other and so they decided to make a trip of it. It was on this trip that everything went wrong.

The four Musketeers were famous.  The public cheered their name (however much the Red Guards cursed it) and criminals cried it as they died or were carted off to prison.  It was said there was a large bounty for the men who managed to get rid of the Musketeers.  The Musketeers in question took notice but also didn’t let it bother them.  It was a compliment, after all.

The four friends were laughing as they headed towards the inn they were to stay the night at.  Well, all but one was laughing yet Athos was no less amused.  He was the leader of the group, the assassins knew and riding beside him was the newest, young one, d’Artagnan.  He was what had made the trio into a force to be reckoned with.  He was the assassin’s first target.

“So d’Artagnan, does Constance think it will be a boy or a girl?” Aramis asked jovially.

“Well, she swears it will be a boy but I personally feel it’s going to be a girl,” d’Artagnan smiled, thinking of his beloved at home with her slightly swelled stomach.  It was a sight he would never tire off and whilst he would enjoy this time with his friends he also couldn’t wait to get back to her.

“Let’s hope she gets Constance’s look then rather than your ugly mug,” Porthos teased.

D’Artagnan galloped forwards to hit Porthos playfully around the head.  Porthos laughed as he dodged a second swipe and Athos called out to them.

“Enough, this is a time for peace,” he said. “Besides, we both know whatever happens the child will be a little hellion, with d’Artagnan’s offspring it is inevitable.”

D’Artagnan dramatically sighed. “My brothers, why do you torment me so,” he lamented causing Aramis and Porthos to break out into snickers and Athos to give him a fond smile. “After all we have been through I-”

The arrow was embedded in his chest before he could finish the sentence. Unable to keep a grip on the reigns d’Artagnan fell off the side of his horse to the ground. The other three didn’t even have time to tend to d’Artagnan before the assassins were upon them.  They fought gallantly but they were outnumbered eight to three.  It was odds they had been able to beat in the past but with the burning need to tend to d’Artagnan their moves were sloppier.  By the end of it they all had more injuries they could bear and the assassins had taken everything they could except their final breath.

Gripping his side tightly, Athos stumbled towards the prone form of d’Artagnan.

“d’Artagnan? D’Artagnan!” Athos cried.  He fell to his knees in pain and saw Porthos and Aramis crawl towards him, each of them nursing their own fatal injuries.

“’Thos?” It was a wonder d’Artagnan was still alive but Athos could see that the arrow had only just missed his heart.  Unless help came quickly he would die, they all would.

“You’re hurt,” d’Artagnan rasped, directing the statement to all his friends.

“Nothing more than a glancing blow,” Porthos lied. His breath was coming in short bursts and he and Aramis leant heavily against each other.  For however much they had laughed about death in battle, the reality terrified them more than they could imagine. 

“We’ll be alright, you will be alright,” Athos muttered.  Out of all of them, d’Artagnan had the most to lose and Athos did not want him thinking of that as he passed.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I nearly burnt down the church?” Aramis suddenly spoke. His eyes were shut but a faint smile played along his lips. “It was a long, long time ago…”

They shared stories for as long as they could that night until one by one, their eyes shut for the last time and they breathed no more.  D’Artagnan was the first to go, as Porthos told a story of how he had caught the attention of Treville.  Tears fell down their cheeks but they consoled themselves with the knowledge they would be with him soon enough.

Aramis was next, as Athos recounted the pranks Thomas would often play on him.  Porthos gently let Aramis slide to the ground.  With Porthos and Athos left, they spoke of the time they first met each other, and how they had initially disliked one another, until Porthos’ head lolled and the conversation ended.  Staring down at his brave, fallen brothers, Athos couldn’t help but smile at how proud he was of the men.  They may have died before their time but nothing could erase the help they’d given and the bond they’d formed.

“All for one and one for all,” Athos muttered before slowly lying down and letting himself go to meet his brothers, both by blood and not.

They were never forgotten, children begged for stories of the brave Athos, the strong Porthos, the loyal Aramis and the bold d’Artagnan, for there was no better tale than that of the four Musketeers.


	9. Birthday Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Porthos' daughter's birthday and it wouldn't be a party if her uncles weren't all there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to JEAikman for the idea for this!

Porthos hadn’t expected Alice to wait for him but for some reason she found him worth waiting for.  At least, that’s what he told people.  Apparently during their separation Alice had had a few (12) lovers but Porthos thought that ruined the whole romantic love story he told people.  It also didn’t bother him that much because at the time of telling him about this Alice had provided a very…effective distraction.

It was with one of these distractions that little Odette was born and Benjamin two years after.  Children had been something Porthos had entertained the idea of but had never thought would actually happen.  He’d either thought he’d be killed before his time or that he would never find the right woman.  As it turned out, the search wasn’t difficult and he’d been honourably discharged due to a knee injury.   He didn’t need a cane any longer but he’d never be as fast as he once was.  It didn’t matter though because he now had two absolutely beautiful children, one of whose birthday was that very day and they were making sure their parents didn’t forget it. 

“Papa! Mama! Wake up!” Porthos was sure he never had the energy Odette had when he was a child, so he blamed Alice.  Considering this was her fault, Porthos tried to keep his eyes shut so she would deal with it but that became impossible when Odette launched herself onto his stomach, landing with a loud ‘oomph’.

“Odette, papa may be a bit soft around the belly but 8 year olds are much bigger than 7 year olds.” Porthos wheezed.

Odette giggled. “You remembered!” She clambered off her father’s stomach to place herself in between her parents. 

“Of course I did, happy birthday Odette,” Porthos said, pressing a kiss to her dark locks. 

“Yes, happy birthday darling,” Alice said, finally awakening to kiss her daughter’s cheek.

“Are my uncles coming today?” Odette asked excitedly.

“They wouldn’t miss your party for the world,” Porthos told her causing Odette to cheer which made Porthos grin.  He was glad that retirement hadn’t made the four friends any less close and they were the only ones he could say could rival affection for his children.  They treated his children as if they were his own and Porthos couldn’t be happier.

“Do you think they’ll bring presents?”

Porthos laughed and Alice dutifully informed Odette that presents were not the most important thing.  It didn’t dim her desire but at least she’d tried.

The party was set to start at 1 pm and it was safe to say they may have gone slightly overboard.  There was enough food to feed a small army and Porthos was more than happy to let Alice deal with the costs of Odette’s new party clothes and presents.  Benjamin also had a new outfit.  Alice had tried to explain why but Porthos figured he would never truly understand this high class way of living.  He was more than content to let Alice deal with the money.    

Aramis was the first guest to arrive and the children were ecstatic.  He knelt down and they ran into his arms so he could lift them both up in the air.

“Aramis!” Odette cried, giving Aramis a wet kiss on the cheek.  Benjamin copied her, always one to follow his sister’s lead, making Aramis chuckle.

“And how are two of my favourite miscreants doing?” Aramis asked.

“Good Uncle Aramis, it’s my birthday,” Odette told him proudly.

“It’s nice to see how my children treat you better than they do me,” Porthos teased and Aramis beamed over Benjamin’s head.

“It’s because I’m better looking of course,” Aramis explained with a wink.  “Or maybe it’s the fact I brought presents!”

At the mention of presents Odette pushed herself out of Aramis’ grasp.  She helped Benjamin down so Aramis would be able to get the gifts.

“We said we would wait till the others got here to open presents did we not Odette?” Alice reminded when it looked like Odette was ready to tear the paper of her present.

Odette pouted. “They’re taking ages,” she whined and Porthos rolled his eyes.  Sometimes he was convinced Odette was Aramis’ child more than his the way she acted.  Porthos really had to limit the amount of time they spent together lest he start gossiping with her about _boys._   

“Aramis, do you want to see Frederick?” Benjamin asked, tugging on Aramis’ trousers.  Unlike Odette, Benjamin was a quiet child who, although copied his sister in a range of different things, was incredibly stubborn.  It was Benjamin who demanded they give their puppy the very human name Frederick when Odette had been pleading to call him Goldy.  Whereas Odette could have been Aramis’ child, Benjamin could very well have been Athos’.  He was just glad his children looked like him or he would be incredibly worried.

D’Artagnan was next to arrive with Constance and baby Edmund in tow.  In reality Edmund was nearing his second birthday and already talking a bit, but he was still such a small child that until another child was born he would always be the baby.

“Po!” Edmund yelled upon seeing Porthos and Porthos took the baby with a smile.  Considering Athos was already ‘Thos’, they’d needed a different name for Porthos and thus he was dubbed ‘Po’. He giggled when Porthos tickled his stomach and d’Artagnan watched them with a grin. 

“Be careful with him,” Constance said.  She said it to whoever held Edmund, so much so that it was just a reflex and Porthos couldn’t blame her.  In the four years they had been trying for a child, Constance had suffered three miscarriages and it had been looking unlikely they would ever conceive.  It had been heart-breaking to watch d’Artagnan and Constance go through the pain of losing their children but Edmund had been a delightful surprise.  He was their miracle baby and Constance was more than a touch paranoid that something would happen to him even though they were best parents Porthos knew.  D’Artagnan tended to rein her in when she got too paranoid but he was guilty of being irrational too. 

“Uncle d’Artagnan did you get me a present?” Odette suddenly appeared.  Her face was expectant and d’Artagnan gave a considering look.

“Present? Oh dear we must have forgotten it!”

Odette looked so put out that all the adults laughed.  “But wait,” D’Artagnan continued. “I think I may have found it.” He reached behind Odette and slid the little present he’d got for her out from under his shirt.   “Here it is! It was hiding!”

Though he did the same every year, Odette was still no less amazed at d’Artagnan’s trick than the first time she saw it.  One day she would figure it out, but today was not that day.  Porthos told her to put the gift with her other presents when the last person to arrive came.

“Athos!” For once it was not Odette to give the cheerful cry.  Benjamin came running forward to clamp himself around Athos’ leg.  Athos gave the boy a fond smile; he tended to smile a lot more these days thanks to the children, and a pat on the head.  For the rest of the party Benjamin refused to leave Athos’ side and the older man had no problem with it whatsoever.  Athos knew he was never going to have children of his own and so he got fulfilment being the best uncle he could possibly be. 

It was rare that all four friends and their spouses and children were all in the same room.  Well mostly.  Prince Louis XIV, Aramis’ secret child, managed to sneak in for half an hour, delighting the other children.  Queen Anne had ended up telling Louis his true parentage on his 13th birthday after the boy had pretty much guessed it by himself.  Now he was an expert at sneaking out to see his father and his friends.  He was the unofficial big brother to all the younger children and they always made sure Louis relaxed the way he couldn’t in the palace.

The party continued late into the night, even after all the children had been put to bed (after insisting Aramis sing on of his famous lullabies).  Porthos and Alice’s house (mansion) had more than enough rooms to accommodate everyone and d’Artagnan and Aramis, the only ones still in the Musketeers, were off duty for the next day as well.  They stayed up well into the night talking, refusing to move even when Alice slept against Porthos’ shoulder and Constance had retired to her room to keep close to Edmund.  It wasn’t a life they had ever pictured for themselves, except for maybe d’Artagnan and Constance, but it was a good one.


	10. The House Of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon entering the church, Aramis comes across a young boy crying.

To Aramis, there was no better place to relax than the church.  The church provided a sense of peace and serenity that he could find nowhere else.  It was these thoughts that made him think he should follow the wishes of his parents and become the abbé they wanted him to be, but he knew deep down that he needed the adventure and excitement being a Musketeer would provide. Regardless, he still liked moments of peace like any other man.

One of Aramis’ favourite parts about the church was the silence that greeted him as he chose to enter early in the morning, when every other sane soul was asleep.  This was the thought that accompanied as he entered, and also what made him notice something was wrong.  Silence was not what greeted him.  Instead he heard a choked sound that sounded like it was trying to be muffled at the sound of Aramis’ entrance.  Curious as to who would be in here at this time other than he, Aramis scanned the room for the culprit of the noise and spied a shock of black hair near the end of the pew at the front.

Making his way over to the person, Aramis was surprised to see that it was a boy sat there.  He couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven and his face was pressed against his palms in an attempt to stifle his sobs.  Upon hearing Aramis’ footsteps nearing the boy hastily tried to rub his face clear of tear tracks but nothing could get rid of the red rimmed eyes and the look of utter despair. 

“What troubles you lad?” Aramis asked, sitting down next to the boy.  The boy fidgeted slightly, no doubt wondering whether to flee, so Aramis gave him a gentle smile which seemed to soothe him. 

“It’s nothing,” the boy mumbled, again wiping at his eyes when a few stray tears fell.

“There must be something to cause you so much grief.  If you need an ear to listen, I would lend mine happily,” Aramis offered. 

The boy was silent for a while and Aramis thought he wasn’t going to speak when he said, “My mother.  She had been ill for a long time.  I thought she was getting better, she started smiling more and staying up for longer but then, a couple of nights ago she wouldn’t wake up.  I kept calling her name and then papa came home and asked for a doctor…”

Aramis’ heart went out to the boy.  He was a fortunate man and both his parents were in good health but many of his friends had lost their parents when they were young and it had wrecked them.  Oh, they were fine now but when Aramis spoke of his own parents he saw the longing look in his friends eyes, remembrances of times with a parent that had been taken away far too soon.

“I’m sorry for your loss lad,” Aramis said sincerely and the boy gave a large sniff.  Aramis wished he had a handkerchief to give the boy but alas he had to make do with his sleeve.

“Papa said it would help to come here,” the boy revealed.  “He said it would remind me that God is looking after mother, but I don’t feel better.  Why did God take her away from me in the first place?!” The boy’s voice ended up rising until he was near shouting and Aramis put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Sometimes God doesn’t make much sense,” Aramis said. “Perhaps God took your mother to ensure she didn’t have to suffer anymore.”

“But then why would he make her sick?” The boy asked in such a lost voice that it made Aramis’ heart clench painfully.  Death was not something grown men could cope with easily, let alone a mere child.  

“If the world was perfect then we wouldn’t know to be grateful for the things we have.  Experiencing loss makes us grateful for the people that remain.  I’m not saying it’s fair that this happens, but what should be remembered is that your mother is with God now and at peace.  You can rest well knowing that she is watching over you.”

Watery eyes met Aramis’.  “Are you sure?”

“Well, no one can be completely sure.  Only the dead know what truly happens.  What matters is your belief.  I believe that that is what happens, do you?”

“I want to.”

“Then do,” Aramis encouraged.  “God would not allow your mother to suffer anymore, that I know for certain.”

The boy gave a shuddery breath.  “Thank you.  I think I need to go see my father now.”

Aramis smiled.  “Off you go then.  Perhaps I will see you again?”

The boy shook his head.  “We are only passing through.  Papa thought it would do us good to go on a trip.”

“You’re father sounds like a wise man.  Well, then it was a pleasure to meet you.”  He held out a hand which the boy took with a small smile.

“Thank you.”

“It was not a problem.”

The boy left and Aramis never saw him again…until just over ten years had passed and the boy was accusing one of his best friends, not that he recognised him.  D’Artagnan may not have connected Aramis with the man he met all those years ago, but he would never forget the kindness of the man in the church.

 

 


	11. Honouring Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance gives birth to twin boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This arose after JEAikman wrote a new one-shot involving my OC Mathieu and though he may not play a large role in this, it was still that story which made me write this.

D’Artagnan had thought he could see no more beautiful sight than his wife pregnant; then she gives birth and a new sight takes it place.  D’Artagnan wishes he could capture the picture, his gorgeous wife cradling their new-born sons, a tired, content smile on her face and the boys staring around at the world they’ve been brought into with wonder.  So far they are nameless, but that is only because they are waiting for his brothers before he bestows them. 

D’Artagnan calls out to the men waiting behind the closed door that they may enter, that everything is well and that they now have two perfect little boys.  They are in within seconds and staring down at the children with amazement and affection.  It makes d’Artagnan’s heart swell, to see so clearly that already these men already love his sons.  He could ask for no better men to watch over them with him and Constance.

“They’re beautiful,” Aramis compliments; leaning over to get a closer look. 

“Would you like to hold one?” Constance asks and Aramis nods eagerly.  Carefully, Aramis takes one of the babies, who upon movement starts to snuffle into his blanket.  Aramis halts, waiting to see whether he’s going to cry, but he settles quickly and so Aramis stands fully upright, smiling down.  Porthos stands next to him and offers a finger to the babe.  It’s taken between tiny fingers which makes the man grin. 

“Strong lad you’ve got there d’Artagnan.  Obviously takes after his mother.”

Both d’Artagnan and Constance laugh.  Athos, d’Artagnan has noticed, has stayed back.  Constance notices as well as she calls him over.

“Would you like to hold this little one?”

Athos gruffly shakes his head.  “No, I’m fine.”  D’Artagnan can tell that Athos wants to, but something is holding him back.  This seems like a good time for the naming then. 

“Would you like to hear their names?” D’Artagnan asks and the three men affirm they would. 

“He,” d’Artagnan says, gesturing to the boy within Aramis’ arms, “is called Mathieu.”

Out of the three men, only Athos understands the meaning of the name for his eyes widen.  D’Artagnan offers him a small, sad smile.  It hadn’t actually been him who had first suggested the name, but Constance.  When he had told her of his dearly departed little brother, Constance had insisted that their child, should it be a boy, should bear his name.

“I can think no better way of honouring a family member so dear,” Constance had said firmly when he’d said they didn’t have to.  The words had sent tears to his eyes and the name Mathieu was confirmed ever since. 

“And he,” d’Artagnan continues, directing their gaze to the baby in Constance’s arms, “is called Thomas.”

This time Aramis and Porthos understand too.  The name Thomas had been one they’d discussed when the physician had said Constance was carrying twins.  Initially they had been stuck on names, and then d’Artagnan had the idea if they were honouring one brother then, should they bear twin boys, why not one more?  Constance had agreed readily when he’d suggested it, Athos being a dear, dear friend to them both and they’d kept it secret since.  They hoped it would be a nice surprise for the man as it seems unlikely he will have children of his own to give the name to.

“Thomas?”  Athos’ voice is a stunned croak. 

“We hoped you wouldn’t mind,” d’Artagnan says and Athos shakes his head.

“No, I…thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now will you hold him?” Constance asks and this time Athos doesn’t say no.  Instead, he slowly makes his way to the bed, gaze on Thomas.  Constance holds him out and Athos gently takes him, holding the babe like he’s made of glass.

“Hello Thomas,” Athos whispers and no one comments when a small tear lands onto the blanket.


	12. Wingardium Leviosa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan struggles learning a new spell and due to comments from other students, decides to hide away instead of asking his friends for help. Athos, noticing his friend's absence, goes looking for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to do a Hogwarts AU for a while and it was initially just going to be about Athos helping d'Artagnan with a spell but then stuff happens as it usually does, hence why the title is a bit less relevant than it was going to be.

Athos had noticed that d’Artagnan had been distant lately.  How a first year Gryffindor managed to worm his way into a tight knit trio of fifth year, Athos would never understand, but there was no doubt he had become the little brother they never had and his absence was felt strongly.  He queried d’Artagnan’s disappearance to the others.

“The last I saw him I believe he was with that girl he likes, Constance I think she’s called,” Aramis replied, referencing the girl who had seemed to have caught d’Artagnan’s eye.  Currently, Athos wasn’t even sure d’Artagnan knew of the small crush he was harbouring but he felt confident that if their friendship lasted throughout the upcoming years, they would no doubt end up a couple.

“When was that?”

“It was…yesterday actually.  I wonder where he is.”  Aramis now looked as concerned as Athos felt, Porthos too mirroring the expression.  It was rare that d’Artagnan was without the one of them and it was unheard of that they not see him for a whole day.

“Perhaps he’s with members of his own year,” Porthos suggested but Athos shook his head.  From where they were seated in the library, Athos could see a large gaggle of the Gryffindor first years, no doubt studying for an upcoming test.  It wasn’t that d’Artagnan didn’t have friends of his own age, quite the contrary actually, it was just that he preferred the company of his older friends. 

“I should go look for him, check he’s alright,” Athos said resolutely. 

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found,” Aramis offered but that didn’t satisfy Athos.  If d’Artagnan felt he had to hide from them, he wanted to know why.  Of course there may be an innocent reason for his absence but Athos wouldn’t have peace of mind until he was certain the boy was alright.

Saying goodbye to his friends, Athos knotted the gold and black tie he had slung around his neck and ventured off to find d’Artagnan.  He stopped off by the Gryffindor first years to ask if they knew where d’Artagnan had gone but all they knew was that d’Artagnan wasn’t in the dormitory.  With one place checked off, Athos was left to think of all the other places d’Artagnan might have gone.

It was pure luck in the end that he found him.  Athos had tried a range of various locations ranging from the Quidditch pitch (d’Artagnan had the makings of a great chaser) to the kitchen (he hadn’t been able to escape without at least sampling one cake).  He was close to giving up, exhausted both physically and of ideas, and just thinking about how he wanted to find d’Artagnan when a door suddenly materialised in front of him.  Athos immediately knew what it was, you didn’t go to Hogwarts without hearing about the Room of Requirement, and he also knew he’d found d’Artagnan.  The question was though, why did he feel the need to hide there?

Taking the opportunity presented to him, Athos slowly opened the door to just hear the end of a frustrated groan, quickly muffled at the creak emitted.  Before d’Artagnan could think of hiding (it was something of a talent of the boy – using his small body to hide in the strangest of places), Athos entered and saw d’Artagnan staring furiously at his wand.

“Stare at it long enough like that and it might just catch on fire,” Athos teased gently, shutting the door behind him.  D’Artagnan turned wide eyed towards him though his surprise didn’t last long before turning into resignation.

“No it won’t.  I don’t know any wandless magic.”

Athos rolled his eyes and sat opposite where d’Artagnan was seated on the ground.  “Care to tell me why you’re hiding and glaring at your wand.”

“I’m not hiding,” d’Artagnan instantly protested.  “I’m just…working.”

“On a spell?”

D’Artagnan nodded.

“Why do you feel the need to do it here?  We would help you if you needed it.”

“I don’t need help!” d’Artagnan nearly shouted.  The vehemence in his voice surprised Athos, and he had the feeling that d’Artagnan’s irritation had more to do than with just struggling with a spell.  

“Alright, you don’t need help,” Athos placated.  “But you still could work on the spell with us.  You normally do.  What made you decide to stay here?” 

“No reason,” d’Artagnan muttered petulantly and Athos knew he was missing something.  Something had obviously been said or happened to d’Artagnan that has made him stay away and Athos was determined to find out what that was.

“Are you sure?  It’s strange behaviour for you d’Artagnan, and this place doesn’t look very comfortable.”  It was true; the room was barren, lit only by a few candles.  There wasn’t even a carpet. 

“So, what?  Why do you care anyway,” d’Artagnan folded his arms and averted his gaze.  It made Athos’ worry grow. 

“Of course I care d’Artagnan.  You’re my friend.”

“But why?  I’m only a first year and you’re all fifth years.”  D’Artagnan’s behaviour suddenly made sense.

“We’ve told you before that it doesn’t bother us, d’Artagnan.  Who have you been talking to this time?”  Many students found the friendship between the four of them odd, and the more vicious of them didn’t try to hide it. 

D’Artagnan was silent for a few seconds before he muttered, “Bonacieux.”

Athos just managed to hold in a sigh.  Bonacieux may only be a second year Slytherin but he was one of the worst bullies of all the years.  He took the traits Slytherin’s should be proud of and used them to torment those in his year and younger.  Unfortunately, lately it had been d’Artagnan who had been the victim of his barbs. 

“What did he say?”

“Just that I was annoying you and that you were only being friends with me because you felt sorry for me.  He said there was no way you could be friends with someone who couldn’t even master a stupid levitating spell.”

“If there is one thing you should know about Bonacieux, d’Artagnan,” Athos said, sliding over to put an arm around the boy’s shoulder.  “It’s that he is an extraordinary liar.  You shouldn’t believe what he says for nothing is further from the truth.  Though you may be a brat sometimes, it’s not enough for us not to want to be your friend.  After all, we haven’t thrown Aramis out of the group yet, have we?” Athos was pleased to see a small smile arise at that.  “And about the spell, everyone has their weak points.  You don’t want to know how long it took me to master Expelliarmus.  I only managed to learn it  because I asked Porthos and Aramis for help and that’s what you should do to. Ask us for help and we will gladly give it.”

D’Artagnan peeked up at Athos through his locks of messy black hair.  “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

D’Artagnan bit his lip.  “Ok then uh…can you help me?”

Athos smiled.  “Of course.”

And so Athos helped d’Artagnan master Wingardium Leviosa and then the next day Porthos taught him how to use it so Bonacieux’s equipment kept flying out of his bag. 

 

 

 


	13. Street-Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos has been called a lot of things throughout his life, but the one that has stuck the most is street-rat. Aladdin AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little drabble came about whilst writing something else. I toyed with the idea of making a proper AU until I decided to just keep it a drabble. I may write more of this AU (still in drabble form) if it’s popular enough.

Porthos has been called a lot of things throughout his life, but the one that has stuck the most is street-rat.  It’s a favourite of the red guards and though he knows they call him it to be cruel, over the years Porthos has grown almost affectionate of the name.  It’s not his fault fate dealt him an unfortunate hand, forcing him to live on the streets and to forage for (and sometimes steal) his food in order to survive.   One day he will pay those people back, he promises whenever he takes a piece of bread or food, he only has to wait until he can become a Musketeer.

Porthos knows that people like him don’t become Musketeers.  After all, who wants to hire a boy born into poverty with no training whatsoever?  It doesn’t matter that he is more skilled than most of the red guards (otherwise how could he escape so often) and that should he be given the opportunity then he would be one of the King’s most dedicated men. 

Now, Porthos is ready to admit that there is another reason for his desire to become a Musketeer and that reason can be summed up with one name.  Aramis.  Aramis is the only son of the King and the most skilled Musketeer Porthos has ever seen.  Ever since stumbling across him one day when he was newly training and escaping the pressures of his royal life, Porthos had found himself enamoured with the man.   The problem is that currently, Aramis would never fall in love with Porthos and even if he should, by some miracle, his father would never let them be together.  The King has frequently proclaimed that his son sill only marry the best, be they man or woman, and Porthos knows that basically means not him.  The best means wealth, fame and…Porthos has none of those things.  His best chance to even get himself noticed would be to become a Musketeer but the only way that would happen was with magic, and that doesn’t even exist. 

 

 


	14. What Women Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne notices the heartbroken, longing expressions that sometimes appear on Constance's face when she believes no one is looking and becomes determined to help her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically, I love the idea of the Queen and Constance becoming best friends and so this one-shot stemmed from that.

Anne has always been quite an observant woman and so the heartbroken, longing expressions that sometimes appear on her new confidents face when she believes no one is looking have not escaped her notice.  It is unsurprising, considering the way Anne has seen her and her husband act with each other. 

Anne is no stranger to unhappy marriages and to finding certain Musketeers more…appealing than is proper for a married woman.    Hearing the way d’Artagnan spoke of Constance; his words could only have come from love and it saddens the Queen that yet again, a woman is unable to be with the man she desires.  It also makes her determined to do all she can to help her new friend.  After all, being Queen should have some benefits.   

It is late in the afternoon when she seeks out Constance, making her way to her new quarters.  After knocking lightly on the door, Anne greets Constance’s shocked face.  She makes sure to give the woman a reassuring smile.

“Good afternoon.  Would I be able to have a word with you?” 

“Um, I yes.  Yes of course, come in.  Please, sit down.”  Constance jumps back from the door, hand wringed nervously in front of her as she waits for Anne to settle on one of the chairs.  Her cheeks are stained red, most likely from her stammering but Anne it merely endears Anne.  She can understand how this woman has managed to charm the young d’Artagnan. 

“You need not stand,” Anne says and she is rewarded with a small smile as Constance sits in the chair opposite her. 

“Now, you must be wondering why I am here,” Anne begins.  “Well, you should know that you have done nothing wrong.  I simply wished to ask if you were alright.”

“Me?”  Constance’s eyebrows raise in surprise.  “Oh, I’m fine!  In perfect health.”

“Of that I have no doubt, I was querying more about the state of your heart.  Hurt does not always have a physical cause.  I am no stranger to hear sickness and you appear to be exhibiting the symptoms.”

The blush reappears on Constance’s face, much fuller in colour.  “I assure you your highness, I am truly fine.  I am content with my husband.”

“I am not a stupid woman Constance and you need not worry that I will judge you.  I understand what it is like to be trapped in a loveless marriage.  I would not condemn you for being unhappy and wishing for more,” Anne assures her but even so Constance shakes her head. 

“While I do appreciate your concern, I am alright.”

Anne knows that Constance will keep on denying that anything is wrong so she decides to take a more direct approach. 

“This concerns d’Artagnan, does it not?  From what I heard, the young man seems quite taken with you and I believe that the feelings may be reciprocated?”

Constance’s face crumples.  “That does not seem to be the case anymore,” she mutters. 

Anne’s brows crease in confusion.  “What do you mean?”

Constance’s eyes widen as she presses a hand to her mouth.  “Oh, excuse me.  I did not mean to say that out loud.  It’s nothing really-“

“Constance,” Anne interrupts.  “I know we have not known each other long but I do wish to help.  I asked you to be my confident but I hope that you may be able to confide in me in return.  Tell me, what did you mean?”

Biting her lip, Constance appears torn over whether to reveal what she meant but her teeth finally release their purchase and she speaks.

“I saw d’Artagnan kissing another woman.  The General’s sister.  We then spoke and he called me a coward for refusing to be with him.  He just doesn’t understand that should I do so and he die that I would lose everything!  My family would disown me, my friends disregard me, he just doesn’t understand!” Her tone has become full of frustration and hurt and Anne feels great sympathy and empathy for the woman before her.  It was a man’s world out there and they had little knowledge of the hardships women went through. How little value they were worth when compared to men themselves.  Even as Queen she had little power, though she had made it her duty to use it the best she was able to.

“Men are foolish creatures,” she says as Constance calms.  “But even so we find ourselves drawn to them.  I assume your d’Artagnan is no exception.  You still love him, yes?”

Though it looks like it pains her to do so, Constance nods.  “Yes.  Even though he can anger me like few others can, no man can make me feel the way he does.”

“Then you shall be with him,” Anne says simply and Constance’s head shoots upwards in bafflement.

“But I-”

“It will not be easy,” she continues.  “But I do believe with the security of the castle it is possible, at least for the time being.  Too long have women been controlled by men, forced to abide by their rules.  It is time we do the things we desire, be with who we want to be.  I will find a way to get word to d’Artagnan so that he can come here and we can arrange meetings for the two of you.  It may not be much, but it should be enough that he will not seek the arms of another woman.  With some time, I hope that I may find a better, more permanent solution so that the two of you can be together freely.”

Constance is speechless, if her open mouth is any indication.  Eventually, she regains her composure enough to speak. 

“Thank you.  Thank you so much your highness, I don’t know what I did to deserve such kindness.”

“Think nothing of it,” Anne replies with a smile, rising and heading over to Constance so she can place a hand upon hers.  “It is about time at least one of us got what we wanted.”


	15. Charlotte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte d’Artagnan had always had big dreams.

Charlotte d’Artagnan had always had big dreams.  As a young child, she questioned her mother why it was always the men who had all the fun while the women stayed indoors.  She couldn’t understand why it had already been decided that her life would be full of cleaning, cooking and sewing while there was adventure to be had.  It was for that reason, when her father began teaching her brother how to fight, that she demanded she be taught as well.  Her father, bless him, had agreed readily and it was as the adrenaline rushed through her veins as she dodged and attacked, that a new future began to form in her mind.   

Charlotte had grown up with tales of the daring, fearless Musketeers.  For many years her dream had merely been to meet one; to see one in action with her own eyes.  When she grew older and a bit more rebellious that dream changed slightly.  Charlotte didn’t want to just meet one, she wanted to become one.

Of course it was a foolish dream, Charlotte knew that.  Not only did she come from a farm in Gascony, but there was the issue of her gender.  Women could not be Musketeers, and it was something Charlotte learnt to deal with.  That didn’t stop her imaging though, imagining that she was actually a man and there was therefore nothing stopping her from at least _trying_ to join.  These fantasies accompanied her through the lessons from her mother, and when she died from a winter illness, through the chores she undertook in order to make sure her father and brother were well fed and warm.

Then her brother died.  Charlotte had been unable to save him and the grief at not being strong enough, at failing her dear, darling brother had nearly been unbearable.  Her father, wreaked by grief too, then started her lessons again to at least make sure he would not lose another child to the cruel men in the world.  The dying flame of a childhood dream had started to rekindle with the lessons but Charlotte knew she could not abandon her father on a silly whim.  It was her duty as a daughter to take care of him and it was a duty she took seriously. 

And then, her father died too. 

Once again, Charlotte had failed a family member and now she was alone in the world.  All of her family was now dead and there was no way she would be allowed to keep the farm herself.  She was left with two choices.  Try and find a nice man who would marry her or be left on the streets, forced to use rather…unsavoury means of making money.  Charlotte knew which option was most likely, her beauty was nothing compared to many of the women out there.  Her future looked bleak and Charlotte was about to resign herself to it when a long buried dream brought itself to the forefront of her mind.  Tendrils of a plan grew and interweaved until her bleak future began to become a bit brighter.  She knew it would be tough, that she would be in great danger and have to be on guard constantly, but she had nothing left.  With nothing left to lose, it was time to carry out her childhood dream. 

Charlotte…no… _Charles,_ was going to become a Musketeer.


	16. Late Night Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is not till late in the night of their return that d’Artagnan realises what an idiot he’s been. Spoilers for 2x1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the result of me not being able to deal with how d’Artagnan spoke to Constance and resolving it.

It is not till late in the night of their return that d’Artagnan realises what an idiot he’s been.  D’Artagnan has always had a bit of a selfish streak in him; it is something he is well aware of and has been trying to change.  Obviously, it is not going too well if the day’s occurrences are any indication. 

He should not have kissed Lucie.  If there is anything he knows for certain, it is that.  It was just that it has been months since he had been with a woman and Lucie was both beautiful and kind.  Kissing her had just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. 

To have Constance stumble upon it had been both a blessing and a curse.  On the one hand, he knew it had hurt her and no matter what, d’Artagnan did not want Constance in any sort of pain, but on the other, it gave him a quick reminder about who his heart truly desired.  Lucie was a sweet girl, and perhaps if d’Artagnan’s heart was not still captured by another, they might have a future together. 

D’Artagnan dearly regrets the words he spoke to Constance.  They were spoken in the heat of the moment, when d’Artagnan realised he had no hope of getting over Constance and his desperation that they just be together was at its peak. It is no excuse, he knows that, and so he feels absolutely wretched. 

Part of being in love is that you care absolutely for the other.  That includes understanding them like no other can, offering sympathy and advice.  Not scornful words like he had.  Why, he is no better than Bonacieux!  Tomorrow, he tells himself, he will apologise to Constance if he is able.  If she will even let him near her that is.  He would not blame her if she wanted her distance from him after the deplorable way he acted. 

But even if he does, d’Artagnan will wait.  He was weak before, but now, he promises to be stronger.  He will not give up on Constance for to do that would be giving up on true love and well, d’Artagnan has always been quite the romantic.  Maybe not as much as Aramis but enough that he knows that if he just keeps believing it, he and Constance will one day find a way to be together. 


	17. The End of a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What really happened the night Milady murdered Thomas. Trigger warning in end notes.

Anne had never been terribly fond of Thomas.  While she mostly tried to ignore him, there were moments when she could not disregard the looks he sometimes sent her way when no one else was looking.  For a man betrothed to the woman Olivier was once meant to marry, the glances were highly inappropriate and it angered Anne that she could do nothing about them, not if she wanted to lose Olivier. 

Meeting Olivier had been one of the best things to happen in Anne’s life, especially considering her past which she was now determined to put behind her.  For this reason, she did not want to do anything that might compromise their relationship and that included keeping her dislike of Thomas to herself.  If there was one thing that was obvious, it was that Olivier adored his brother and would most likely not tolerate a bad word against him, even from her. 

She may be his beloved, but it seemed not even that could compare to way Olivier felt about Thomas. 

Most of the time Anne was able to avoid contact with Thomas however this evening was an unfortunate exception.  Anne made sure to keep her expression content and tone cordial as the dinner commenced though she was less than pleased with the company.  While Anne preferred Catherine, Thomas’ betrothed, to the man himself, Anne was certain the woman did not like her and Anne supposed it was that she was married to the man she was supposed to be.  Due to this, conversation was slightly stilted but Olivier did not seem to notice, content to being surrounded by loved ones.  A current of rage pulsed through her at Olivier’s obliviousness but as usual, she ignored her anger.  Once dinner was over she could retire with Olivier and be free from discomfort. 

Eventually, desert was finished and Anne was relieved she could finally leave.  Ready to exit as quickly as possible, she startled when a hand was put on her shoulder.

“Anne, I wondered if I might have a moment alone with you.”  Briefly, she felt Thomas’ breath against her neck and shivered.  Plastering on an insincere smile, she took a step forward to remove the hand and turned around. 

“Actually I am quite tired and would like to retire for the night,” she replied. 

“I assure you it will not take long.  I merely require a bit of advice.  I’m sure Olivier can live without your presence for a while, can’t he?”  Thomas sent a cheeky grin towards Olivier which had the other man smiling.  At that moment Anne knew there would be no early retirement for her. 

“Of course, just don’t be too long otherwise I may get ideas,” Olivier teased and it made Anne sick how Olivier had no clue that his brother could be capable of the things he joked about. 

Thomas merely winked in response and out of the corner of her eye Anne saw Catherin roll her eyes before leaving.  Olivier followed her, chuckling, and the door slammed shut.  Anne tensed as Thomas’ attention was back on her.

“So, what did you wish to ask me?”  She asked as pleasantly as possible. 

Thomas smiled; a glint in his eye.  “Come now, I doubt you really think I asked to get you alone for just a question.”

Her fears confirmed, Anne took a step back.  “If you don’t have a question then I think I shall take my leave.”  She spun around but before she could open the door, Thomas was already there, arm over her shoulder so his hand was pressed firmly against the door.  His other arm came up beside her, trapping her against the cool wood.

 “You’re a very lovely lady,” Thomas crooned, head coming closer.  “Especially for one with such an… interesting past.”

Anne froze.  How could he know…she had been so careful…

Thomas noticed her shock and laughed lowly.  “Yes, I know.  I have many contacts and one of them happened to hear about some of your more dishonest behaviour.  I wonder what Olivier would do if he heard?  He doesn’t have to you know, not if you just go along with this.”

One of his hands dropped from the door to rest upon her waist and Anne jerked away from it. 

“What would Olivier say if he saw you behaving this way towards his wife?!” She hissed. 

“I think we can both agree that my brother doesn’t have the best judge of character, especially concerning those he loves.  Though despite this he does seem to get the best in life…”  His gaze turned predatory and Anne’s fingers brushed against the knife she concealed against her thigh.  It was a habit she had not grown out of but this was the first time since meeting Olivier that she had even thought to use it. 

 “Stay away from me,” she warned. 

“Or what, my dear?”  Thomas’ hand comes towards her again, this time travelling to the bottom of her dress and in a panic, she whipped out the knife. 

“I said stay away!”  She cried and Anne is surprised no one has come to check on them yet. 

“A knife?  It seems you are keeping a few more secrets than I thought.  It would be in your best interest to put that away.”

“Just keep away from me,” Anne said, holding the knife out in front of her but instead of doing as she ordered, Thomas charged towards her and attempted to wrestle the knife away from her.  Though Thomas had strength on his side, Anne had years of practice aiding her and so she kept a tight grip on her weapon. 

It was as the two were fighting that it occurred to Anne that there is no way she can truly win.  Should she manage to keep the knife and flee, Thomas would tell Olivier of her past and she would lose her relationship.  Should Thomas get the knife then she would be helpless and Thomas may still reveal her secret. 

Another alternative suddenly crossed her mind.  Maybe, there was a way she could both stay safe and keep her relationship with Olivier…

Before she can really think it through, Anne slides the knife in Thomas’ chest.  It is at that moment the maid arrived, just in time to see Thomas’ dying body fall to the floor while the blood stained knife is plain to see in Anne’s hand.  The maid screamed and as footsteps become louder, Anne just hopes that she can make Olivier believe that she had to do it, that she only attacked Thomas in self-defence and did not mean to kill him.  While most of that is actually true, Anne cannot delude herself into thinking that she didn’t feel a bit of satisfaction as the blade pierced Thomas’ body. 

However, when Olivier entered and she saw the heartbroken look on his face despite her cries that Thomas forced himself upon her, she knew she has no chance.  Her relationship with Olivier was doomed no matter what, and in that respect, Thomas died for nothing.  She doesn’t regret killing him though, she thought as she was being dragged away.  The only thing she regrets is that she will still love Olivier despite the fact he is going to kill her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Attempted rape.


	18. Under the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For as long as they could remember, Aramis and d’Artagnan had wanted to see the human world. Little Mermaid AU. Aramis/Porthos and d'Artagnan/Athos pre-slash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With exams finished I know have time to write so enjoy a Little Mermaid AU! The reason I did another Disney AU is mostly because of the Hunchback of Notre Damn AU 'Sanctuary' by DarkFairytale which is honestly one of the best musketeer fics and if you haven't read it, you really should. It just made me remember I love disney/fairytale AUs.

For as long as they could remember, Aramis and d’Artagnan had wanted to see the human world.  Life under the sea was nice and the scenery was beautiful but they wanted to explore, to see what the world had to offer beyond the surface.  Years of collecting the relics left behind within sunken ships had only strengthened their desire to see more, to really know what life  was like on two legs.  Glimpses from the horizon could only provide so much, and one night Aramis decided enough was enough; he wanted more than a distant view.

“Let’s just do it, go closer.  What harm could it do?”  Aramis questioned d’Artagnan as they inspected their new find of the day - a silver object that looked like a tiny trident.  They weren’t entirely sure what it did, though d’Artagnan guessed it was something to do with hair. 

“Treville would have a lot to say in answer to that,” d’Artagnan replied.  Treville was the merman tasked with protecting merfolk from humans and the danger that lurked in the sea.  Both he and d’Artagnan considered him a father figure as he had cared for the both of them since their parents were killed when they were merely children.  Aramis and d’Artagnan had the utmost respect for Treville, but the human world would always be the thing they disagreed and argued about. 

“He just doesn’t understand,” Aramis countered.  “Perhaps some humans are dangerous, but surely not all of them are.  Come on, we’ll just take a peek.  I just want to see _more_ , don’t you?”

“You know I do.”  D’Artagnan sighed.  “Come on, let’s go, but if anything goes wrong, it’s _your_ fault.”

Aramis simply grinned. 

-

Years of practise had made sneaking out of the city easy and soon Aramis and d’Artagnan were swimming towards the surface, following the blurred sight of bright colours exploding in the sky.  Breaking the surface, they were able to see it was a ship setting off the colourful bombs in the air.  Though the bang they emitted suggested they should be dangerous, they merely looked beautiful as they illuminated the sky with vibrant sparks. 

“Wow,” d’Artagnan breathed.

“I told you this was a good idea,” Aramis replied, equally captivated by the display.

Music blared from the ship along with the cheers of men and Aramis swam around the ship, hoping to catch a glimpse of the party on board.  It wasn’t easy, especially as Aramis didn’t want to risk getting seen himself, but eventually he spied two men leaning against the sides, drinks in their hands as they spoke.  It was the closest sight he’d ever got of men and Aramis looked at every detail with glee.

“d’Artagnan, come here,” Aramis whispered and d’Artagan silently did, following Aramis’ gaze with his own, a grin blossoming on his face. 

“It’s strange how they look so similar to us but we live such different lives,” he commented and Aramis nodded.  It was funny how much difference a simple tail made.

“Imagine if we had legs,” d’Artagnan continued, “we could be up there with them.  Able to walk, to dance, to live under the sun instead of the water.”

“It would be nice,” Aramis said wistfully, smiling when the two men above them laughed. 

The two mermen continued to watch the party aboard the ship, the peek they were supposed to taking ending up becoming an hour.  They would have observed for longer except the dark clouds that had begun to appear brought a thunderstorm with them.  Rain started to pour down while thunder and lightning fought among the clouds.  With the waves becoming larger and more erratic, the sailors ran to their posts and Aramis and d’Artagnan took it as their cue to leave. 

They were on their way down, swimming faster as the sea became rougher and rougher, until d’Artagnan called for Aramis to stop.  He did so and turned to see d’Artagnan pointing to two shadows in the distance. 

“I think that’s some of the men on the ship!” d’Artagnan shouted, panic lacing his voice. 

Aramis knew they should leave, that they had already done enough that night.  The affairs of men were none of their concern and they should keep away.  But truthfully, those were only Treville’s words he was thinking.  Aramis wanted to help, and judging that d’Artagnan was already speeding towards the men, he did too. 

Aramis quickly followed his friend and he saw that the two shadows were the men that they had seen talking.  Slightly awed that he was so close to humans, he grabbed one of the men while d’Artagnan took the other.  They broke the surface quickly; men could not survive long under the water, and hastily made their way to the shore.  By the time they reached the sandy land, the sky was beginning to turn red with the arrival of dawn.  The burgeoning light allowed Aramis to have a better look at the man he had saved. 

His skin was dark brown, darker than Aramis had ever seen before, and  he had hair on his face that had scratched, not uncomfortably, against his shoulder.  His body was well defined with muscle and Aramis found himself slightly fixated on the legs he had.  He’d never seen any up close and they looked so different to his own ruby red tail.  Aramis longed to know the life the man led, to ask what he did for fun, what had caused the scar on his face, whether the human world was as good as he imagined it.  He was enamoured already, he couldn’t even try to deny it, and a glimpse to his left told Aramis that d’Artagnan felt the same about the man he himself had rescued. 

Aramis isn’t sure what made him, but he began to sing as he slowly traced a hand down the man’s sun kissed skin. Merfolk had always praised Aramis’ singing and he hoped that even unconscious, the man might appreciate it.

_What would I give, to live where you are?_

_What would I pay,_ _to stay here beside you?_

_What would I do to see you, smiling at me?_

The dark skinned man started to stir and d’Artagnan isn’t quick enough to leave before his man opens his eyes and catches a glimpse of his rescuer.  Fortunately, he hadn’t seen Aramis and so he quickly followed his companion back into the sea.  They’ve interfered enough already, Treville would have a heart attack if he knew what they’d already done.

Left behind on the shore were two very confused men, one committing a set of beautiful eyes to memory, the other replaying the sound of a beautiful voice in his head.  

 

 

 

 


End file.
